


Twist a Wicked Hex

by Lady_Morningstar



Category: The Hollows - Kim Harrison
Genre: Gen, Twist a Wicked Hex, magick, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:54:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21627175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Morningstar/pseuds/Lady_Morningstar
Summary: Not all magick is light and love and fluff.  Sometimes, people need to pay for what they've done.  Sometimes, when a man beats a woman or touches a child, they need to pay.  And when the law can't help, sometimes the Darkness can.  Sometimes, the best way to twist a wicked hex is to tell a story and visualize the elements made real...let it play out like a movie in your head...imagine the sounds, the smells, the sensations....and let it all unfold...





	Twist a Wicked Hex

**Author's Note:**

> If you have thoughts or feelings about using baneful magick against those who sexually abuse children, you can go away now. If you share my belief that there isn't any fate too awful for such a monster, by all means, read on. If you are so inclined, feel free to add a bit of your own power to the spell.

It was a hot and still night in Arizona. The wind had finally stopped gusting, but a fine dust coated everything, making the footing oddly slick and treacherous.  
What's his face was going to go check the mail and stepped onto the porch.  
His face twisted in surprise when his left foot went sailing out from underneath him like he had stepped on black ice.  
An unmanly screech pierced the night as his body contorted and gravity took hold.  
What's his face landed awkwardly and hard with his leg bent underneath him.  
His vision flared to nothing but white agony as he felt things inside his knee pop, rip and come loose.  
The pain was so profound, what's his face couldn't see....couldn't breathe...couldn't scream.  
He lay still and shaking, his eyes bulging and lips contorted in a silent scream that caused the nearby dogs to begin barking.  
The initial pain crested and broke over him like a tsunami of agony. The waves that followed were less intense but no less nauseating.  
His vision slowly cleared and he began gasping. Sweat was pouring from his forehead at the intensity of the swift agony burning through his leg.  
He needed to see how bad it was. He could tell he was bleeding, the warm stickiness was trickling past his foot.  
His rough hands claw at the gritty earth, desperately trying to find purchase to untwist his mangled leg.  
He manages to get a tiny bit of leverage and moves his lower leg a fraction. This time, the screaming is entirely audible and rips apart the silence of the hot arid night.  
And yet...no one comes.  
Tears leak from the corner of his eyes, and he starts to hyperventilate.   
Every tiny movement causes agony to twist through his tattered joint, but staying still is not an option.   
The pain won't allow it, the pain drives him, the pain owns him, the pain claims him, the pain devours him, until nothing exists but flares of agony and despair because he is alone, but, not quite. The pain will be his constant companion.  
Bile floods up his throat and pours into his mouth.  
He gags on the sour stench of it and chokes. Coughs. The mucus fills his sinuses and a new fiery hell explodes in his face as vomit pours from his nose and mouth.  
Each heave forces his body to jerk and his leg slowly straightens.  
He can't tell if his eyes are clenched shut or if the pain has just rendered him blind for the moment, but it doesn't matter, only ending the pain matters.  
Pain tears, pain burns, pain claims, pain judges, pain rips, pain grinds and he begs.  
Nonsensical pleading tumbles from his dripping lips, but no help comes. In the end, we are all alone with our pain, so why should he be any different?  
An lifetime passes, or was it minutes? He has no idea how long he has been laying there, covered in vomit, blood and a new sensation? Warmth. And an acrid smell. Ammonia like but thicker.  
Even through the pain, he can feel his face heat with the shame of having pissed himself.  
More time passes and he slowly realizes he can breathe.  
The pain is by no means gone, but it is somehow distant. He feels cold and has no idea how he could feel cold on a 90+ degree evening.  
He looks down and sees that his legs are now straight out and he is laying on his back, with no memory of how he got there.  
His shorts do nothing to hide the hideous state of his knee, or well, what used to be his knee.  
Now there is just a red ruin.  
His hands are shaking as he slowly sits up.  
His face is tight with dried vomit and mucus, and he thinks his vision must be a bit blurry.  
He just fell a little ways, not down a canyon or anything. How...is it...THAT....that...  
He rubs his eyes with one abraded palm and blinks.  
Nothing changes. Blood slowly pulses from places where his knee...was?  
He gets fully upright and his head swims.  
Nausea comes back in a rush and he swallows hastily.  
He gulps air in through his mouth and tilts his head back so he is looking at the sky, not mangled meat.  
Even though his eyes can escape the sight, his other senses can't. The piss is cooling on his lap but the blood is still warm and while the pain isn't all consuming anymore, he knows it's just waiting to come for him again.  
That thought brings terror.  
Knowing how close it is. Knowing it waits. Knowing it is watching, wanting, hungering.  
He gasps a shuddering breath.  
He can't stay here like this. Coyotes run around here at night and while they wouldn't go for a healthy person...would they come for him? No...they wouldn't right? Oh God please....right?!  
He tries to figure out how to stand and the pain is on him like a tiger...tearing through is body, ripping apart his mind.  
His vision goes red this time and into a long tunnel. He can hear his breathing whining in and out of his mouth but can't control it.  
He just has to ride it out. Just has to take it because the pain doesn't give any option. It IS. It WILL BE.  
When he can think again, he notices how large the pool of blood around him is. Christ! Did he rip a vein or something?!  
He knows he needs to get help. He has to crawl. Crawl through the dirt, the grime, the gravel, up to the door and get to his phone. Has to.  
Every inch is a nightmare of torment.  
Every movement is tearing torture.  
He vomits convulsively again and isn't even trying to hold back the tears.  
Why hasn't anyone come outside? Surely they heard him screaming? Why is he alone?  
Why is there no one?  
Why? Inch.  
Why? Scream.  
Why? Beg.  
Alone. Pain.  
Inch. Agony.  
Why? Fire.  
Why? Pain.  
Inch. Tearing.  
Why? Alone.  
Help? No.  
Time loses meaning.  
It could be minutes, it could be hours. He doesn't know.  
He clears the doorway and his fingers grasp the phone.  
His hand is shaking so badly he fails to put in the unlock twice.  
His brain doesn't process he could have just used the emergency feature.  
911  
911  
911  
A chant.  
A prayer.  
Salvation.  
911  
911  
911  
9  
1  
1  
He finally gets it right.  
It rings.  
"911, what's your emergency?"  
His mind blanks...what?  
What does he say?  
How does he explain that he crawled through hell?  
How does he form that experience of 10 feet through abject unsanctified hell?  
He chokes out a sound...words dammit where are the words?!  
"911, hello? Is there anyone there?"  
" PLEASE" he screams!  
PLEASE  
He distills everything down to that and it is stuck on a loop.  
PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!  
"Sir, I'm here to help, I just need to know what you need? Where are you?"  
He sobs...please....p..p...please?  
It's getting harder and harder to think.  
The words are like thick syrup.  
He knows what he needs to say but everything is so heavy.  
please  
Everything is a bit dim and he's cold. How can he be cold? Sweat is still pouring off his tortured body.  
please  
"Sir, stay with me. Tell me where you are? I can send help!"  
p lea se  
All he can see is the phone now. The light of the screen. The little green phone and the timer, ticking off the seconds of the call.  
puh  
puh  
lee  
puh  
lees  
"Sir, you are on a cell. We can't track it. I need you to tell me where you are? Come on buddy, just tell me a street?"  
p  
p  
p  
p  
l  
l  
s  
the phone slips from his hand softly, like the tear tracking through the grime on his cheek.  
He can still see it out of the corner of his eye.  
He knows he needs to  
Needs to do  
do  
what  
what does he need to do  
what  
please  
whease  
wheeze  
shudder  
stillness  
darkness  
cold  
SO MOTE IT BE.


End file.
